


Harvest Moonshine

by Nenalata



Category: Harvest Moon, Harvest Moon: Grand Bazaar
Genre: Alcohol, Blackmail, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Implied Sexytimes Easy to Ignore if That's Not Your Thing, It's Still a Romance Though Don't Worry, Mild Language, Painstaking Descriptions of Banking, Political Intrigue, Renounced-ier Future, Slight Canon Divergence, Tax evasion, bootleggers AU, mild violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-26
Updated: 2017-06-29
Packaged: 2018-10-10 21:47:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10448277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nenalata/pseuds/Nenalata
Summary: In the eyes of Zephyr Town, Anita is a hardworking farmer who is doing remarkably well in the bazaar. To those in the know, Anita is who you see when you're thirsty and need a good strong drink from her less-than-legal liquor side business.Edited, smoothed out, reworked, and reposted from its original incarnation!





	1. Samogan

**Author's Note:**

> If this story looks familiar, that's because it should be! It's still me posting. What's new now is the hosting platform and the neater language. If you've stumbled upon this for the second time, it's still the same story, but freshed-up, revitalized, cleaned up with a more regular updating schedule to boot! If this is your first time stumbling over this story, I hope you enjoy the ride.

Despite its cheery atmosphere and flora-filled environment, Zephyr Town was a town of secrets. Mostly harmless secrets, of course: Isaac would sometimes sneak downstairs in the wee hours of the morning to finish off the cake his wife had baked the night before; Raul lusted after Marian to the point that it almost embarrassed the other villagers; Kevin always pretended to wash his hands before dinner, and his mother had yet to notice that his chubby palms were less than sparkling clean.

And then, of course, there were darker, more interesting secrets. Marian had had an unpleasant—to say the least—experience with a boy back in the city, and he was the reason for her life in the village. The newcomer Amir was a prince, unbeknownst to most of the townspeople. And Anita the farmer raked in a nice profit each bazaar day by selling liquor under the table.

She wasn't vending cheap moonshine; no, this booze came in a variety of flavors and high-quality brews. Beer, mead, champagne, flavored wine—name it, and Anita would already have it on hand and ready to sell, no questions, don't tell your parents where you got it. On her rather large stand at the bazaar, she rang her little bell for the farmers and nosy neighbor types to eat up her almost overpriced pineapples or fruit yogurt, but if you knew a guy who knew a guy who knew about Anita, all you had to do was give her a subtle nod and 1160 gold, if you wanted something cheap, or sixty hundred if you were of a more refined palate.

Felix couldn't believe how much the small farm was bringing home, and how well it meant the bazaar was doing. Because his town was benefiting from Anita's labors, and because he was a rather small-minded man, he didn't bother to look into the source of Anita's gold. Surely no one was willing to pay so much for herb mayonnaise, which was frankly a little too greasy-sweet for anyone to stomach in large doses. The only one who showed any interest in Anita's winnings was Amir, but since Anita had kept quiet about his royal lineage, he hadn't seemed to dig into the matter.

And so Anita kept making a tidy profit, Amir kept his mouth shut, and the bazaar continued to thrive.

* * *

 

The windmill had shuddered to a halt hours ago, and Anita had only just returned from visiting Freya. By her calculations, the latest batch of blueberry wine should have been ready by now. She glanced up at the stationary windmill and frowned. Clearly, this was a problem. She couldn't ask Wilbur to come over when half-fermented liquor was still being processed, lest he need to open up the processing chamber and discover where all her money was coming from.

Or maybe he wouldn't. This town was remarkably lax on authoritative measures and inquiries. Felix hadn't even questioned her criminal history—tax evasion—when she'd applied for ownership of the run-down farm. In fact, she doubted he'd even read her application, just snapped her up as soon as he'd received the packet of papers. Not many people were interested in a shabby ranch in a dying town, after all.

Anita grinned to herself as she tightened her gloves and began inspecting the windmill mechanism. Setting up this little liquor operation had almost been too easy. It wasn't so much that she craved a challenge or enjoyed doing the forbidden—she simply liked being in control of a situation, like being an agricultural region's sole supplier of decent liquor. It was why she'd enjoyed bringing the ratty—and rat-infested—farm to life the way she had.

"Need some help?"

Anita spun around, clutching her hand to her heart in surprise. Amir stood in the open doorway of her windmill, surveying her with an amused half-smile.

"You never visit, Amir," Anita said crisply, trying to regain some of the cool that he'd startled out of her. "What's the matter?"

He invited himself in, glancing around the mechanisms as he did so. "I saw the windmill on your farm had stopped from my hotel room," he explained. "I was worried you hadn't noticed, so I came over to offer my assistance."

"Yeah, well, it's perfectly taken care of," Anita replied, looking the cogs and pumps over herself. "Thanks for your concern, but I noticed, too."

"Did you figure out the problem?"

"What?" She wiped her forehead with the back of her hand. "No, not yet. But I will. It can't be too complicated, right?"

"You should ask Wilbur to help if you're confused," Amir said. "I'm sure it's a problem he could easily fix."

"No, you know me. I like to fix things by myself."

Amir gave her a long look, one that made her uncomfortable. It was a searching look, a dubious look. She bristled.

"I do," she said emphatically.

"Of course," he said, so calmly that Anita knew he didn't believe her. "Let's take a look at the processing chamber. That's usually where the problem lie—something getting stuck, or—"

Anita darted in front of him. "No," she said flatly. "I have something fermenting in there. I don't want the air to get to it."

"If there's a problem with the windmill that checking out the—"

"No."

Amir folded his arms over his chest, irritation and suspicion glittering in his eyes. "It's not like you to be this…tenacious," he said.  _Tenacious_  was obviously the politest word he'd chosen.

"Yes, it is."

He raised an ice-colored eyebrow. "What are you hiding, Anita?" he asked quietly.

"I'm not hiding anything," she said, just as softly and sternly.

"Whatever's in there isn't going to ferment properly as long as the windmill isn't working," he argued.

"Thanks for offering to help, Amir," Anita said instead. "I think I can handle it from here." She turned her back on him pointedly, pretending to poke about the mechanisms. She continued the charade until she heard footsteps leave the premises. She whipped around when she was positive he was gone and opened the processing chamber. The problem was immediately apparent. Amidst the slush of half-fermented blueberries and grapes, a huge wad of blueberry-grape was caught between two pumps, preventing them from moving up and down. Anita groped about in her rucksack for her retractable sickle, then slid the scythe between the pumps. The offending gob of fruity goo removed, the pumps began working at their usual speed, and Anita could hear the windmill churning again. She leaned back from the chamber with satisfaction.

Someone gasped behind her. She whirled around for the second time that day to find Amir peering in yet again, closer now, his nose twitching. His eyes were fixated on the open processing chamber, and she slammed it shut, heart racing.

"Can I help you?" she bit out.

Amir's surprised gaze moved to meet her eyes. "Did I just smell—?"

"It's tea," she snapped.

Amir gave her a disappointed look before turning and leaving once more. She raced out after him.

"You didn't see anything, Amir," she called after him. He didn't flinch. Raising her voice, she yelled, "I meant to say, Prince Amir Ranjit Raj Singh!"

He glanced back at her once before continuing down the hill.

* * *

 

The next day heralded the beginning of fall, and Amir visited her farm to say goodbye. If she stared a little too intensely into his eyes and gripped his palm a little harder when they shook hands farewell, neither of them mentioned it.

The entire season, Anita slept a little easier, knowing Amir was far away. Fall was always a good bazaar season for her. Though her basement greenhouse always ensured a stock of grapes was at hand, her natural grape vines flourished in the sunshine and high-quality fertilizer she caked the plants with. Her attention was focused a little more on the upkeep of so many vines, but she still made sure to take care of her herds of animals and orchards of fruit trees to cover up her little hobby. Felix was pleased with her work, and she was making plans to add a second floor to her house when the season ended and Amir came back with the winter chill.

Winter was a difficult season enough, Amir's presence notwithstanding. Her sole source of honest income lay in her animals, and she no longer had the seasonal fruits and herbs to make her famous yogurt and cheeses, as her greenhouse was devoted entirely to grapes and apples. Covering up her side gig at the bazaar was always hardest in the winter, and Amir's suspicions were going to make it even harder.

"It's good to see you again," Amir greeted her bright and early the first of winter.

Anita's answering smile was less than warm. "The same to you, Amir."

They observed each other with growing awkwardness until Amir turned to go.

"Why don't you come over for dinner tonight?" Anita blurted out.

Amir stared.

"I think it would be nice to have a little chat," Anita said, sugary-sweet. "We should catch up, after your long trip away."

Amir gave a slow nod. "I think we have some catching up to do, too," he answered.

She waved goodbye as he walked down the path of her ranch. She noticed he gave her sign a long look, and when she later went to check it out herself, she realized a change was in order. No good trying to barter with the man when her farm's name was written in painted grapevines. She'd grown bold, apparently.

She was busy repainting when Amir showed up around seven o'clock.

"Needed a change?" he asked, pointing to the sign.

"Needed a change," she agreed, dropping her paintbrush in the bucket. The farm's name was written in plain gold, outlined in even plainer black. "Winter called for a more somber sign."

"I see."

She beckoned him inside and seated him at the dining table. "Dinner will be just a minute. I need to add some finishing touches first." Anita headed into the kitchen, which already smelled deliciously of cooked carrots and shiitake. The savory aromas only increased as she removed the lid from the pot of simmering stew just enough to add some homemade sake.

Once it looked done, she turned off the heat and scooped two bowls of the stuff. Balancing the two on one arm with a basket of fresh bread on the other, she made her grand entrance into the main room. She plopped Amir's bowl in front of him with a sarcastic flourish. It was only after she'd sat down herself and had a spoonful of soup in one hand that she realized Amir hadn't touched his meal.

"Something wrong?" Anita asked, almost genuinely concerned. If she wanted this evening to go smoothly, the most she could afford was that he enjoyed dinner.

"I'm sure it can't be coincidence, but…" Amir met her gaze suspiciously. "Stew is my favorite thing to eat. Did you know?"

She laughed awkwardly. Now he really knew she was trying to butter him up, and she hadn't even intended to be so obvious. "No, I didn't," Anita said truthfully. "Stew is just such a good winter dish that I barely even thought about it. Well, obviously I wanted to make something nice," she backtracked, seeing his mildly offended look, "but you know what, I'm going to shut up. I'm glad it's your favorite. Hope you like it."

Amir did seem to enjoy it, saying little but savoring each bite. Anita was finished long before he was. Towards the bottom of his bowl, however, he made a face.

"Is that sake I taste?"

Anita flushed. "I guess it didn't cook down all the way."

"From the premises, I assume," he said, raising an eyebrow.

She tilted her chin at him. Why not be brave and get right to the point? "Yes, it is. Are you finished?"

"I am. Thank you. It was a nice welcome-back gift."

As she began clearing the table, she made a mental note to let the stew cook for a bit longer. "The evening's not over yet, my friend," she said from the kitchen, stumbling over the forced endearment. "Stay for dessert, why don't you?"

"I'd be glad to, thank you." She heard the switch from his casual dinnertime tone to a stiff, more formal one and knew he'd be ready for discussion. She smiled.

Anita came out of the kitchen once more, this time bearing a plate of stewed apples, two wineglasses and a bottle. She noticed his gaze stray to the wine and she grinned. She wiggled the bottle in front of him. "I assume this is why you're here?" she teased, trying his temper.

To his credit, Amir didn't rise to the bait. "I came because you invited me," he responded coolly.

"Of course." Anita set the bottle, plate and glasses down. "You remember this wine, I hope? It's the blueberry I was working on when the windmill got clogged. It's made with Muscat grapes, so it should complement the apple dessert nicely."

"I see," he said indifferently, but she noticed he didn't refuse a glass.

"Dessert wines are one of my most popular bottles," she began conversationally. "The people in these parts usually just drink the swill that the local crappy vineyard offers and don't even realize that there's a whole world of drink to explore. When they discover the exquisite sweetness of a dessert wine, especially one as high quality as the kind I sell, they immediately become loyal customers. Their dinners are fancier, their palates a little happier, and I have a new best buddy each week."

"What's your point, Anita?" Amir interrupted.

Anita smiled and took a sip. Sweet, only mildly acidic. Delicious, as always. "My point, dear Amir, is that my little side business is only illegal because I don't have a liquor license, and where am I supposed to get one in this tiny little town? The city is too far away for my farm to get to. Now—"

"Joan has a liquor license," Amir pointed out.

Anita glared. "May I finish?" He gestured for her to continue. "Thank you. Now, if you turn me in to Felix, I lose a lot of business, boohoo. But a large majority of people in close counties and even this little village will be out for your neck, not to mention miserable."

"Anita—"

"There also is the little detail about your secret princedom," Anita said a little louder. For a member of the royal family, polite prince Amir sure was fond of interrupting people. "Now, I know Felix is the only person besides myself who knows. But imagine how inconvenient that would be for you if that secret got out."

"Anita, I'm not looking to turn you in," Amir finally cut in.

Anita blinked. "Run that by me again?"

Amir leaned back in his chair with a little smile. "At least, that isn't my main goal. If you cause me trouble like you're threatening to, then yes, I certainly will. But no,  _my friend_ , turning you in isn't on the top of my agenda."

"Oh," Anita exhaled. "Well, that sure is a load off my chest. Guess I invited you over for nothing."

His smile grew. "That was rather unfriendly to say."

Anita only shrugged. "What can I say? I was worried that was your angle."

Amir laughed at her brazenness, but soon his features grew stern. "That doesn't mean I won't turn you in if you don't hear me out."

Back came the worry. "What do you want?"

"I want a cut of the profits."

Anita laughed, disbelieving. "No way."

"No way as in no, or no way you don't believe me?"

"No way both ways. You're a prince. You're filthy rich. I don't see why you need hush money."

Amir's eyes narrowed. "The prince thing is part of the problem. I'm looking to renounce my claim to the throne."

Anita whistled. "That's some serious political trouble you're gonna get yourself in, princeling."

He gave her a sharp look. "That's why I need money. I'll lose access to my funds once my father realizes I'm serious and disowns me. I'll need money, and if you want me to keep your secret, I'd appreciate the, as you called it, 'hush money.'"

Anita grinned. "So you're in my debt more and more."

"Not really, since I want half the profits."

"Don't think so, O disillusioned prince. That's a lot of money for me to give up."

He shrugged again. "You either lose half your funds, or you lose your entire way of life."

"And you agree to my answer of 'no' unless you want everyone at the bazaar told of a prince with a dark past and a darker, renounced-ier future."

Amir stared her down. It didn't work.

"I see we're at an impasse," Anita said more dramatically than needed.

Amir seemed to accept it. "Indeed. There must be a way we can work this out."

Anita chewed her lip. "I can think of one solution, but you're not going to like it."

"Then we might as well reject it now before we waste any more breath."

"No, no, hear me out," Anita insisted. "Look, clearly I can't just give you half my profits…"

"You could."

She ignored him. "But perhaps we can work out a deal for our deal. I'm going to need to work even harder to make up for my lost profits to you. The bazaar is depending on me, and I want a house expansion. I don't think I can work that hard on my own. How about you work part-time on my farm? Since you won't be locked in your hotel all day studying, you can spend the extra time telling everyone that you're studying agribusiness for home by working hands-on. That way, you'll really be earning the profits instead of just stealing them from me."

Amir frowned. "You're right. I don't like it. Forgive me."

"Oh, come on. You just don't like the thought of manual labor."

"I've never done a day's work in my life," he said imperiously.

"So it'll be good for you. It'll be an experience. Then you'll have enough saved up so you can properly shame your father."

Amir seemed to be considering it, and she leapt upon his weakness.

"You'll get stew for lunch as often as you'd like," she tempted him.

"That's true," he muttered to himself.

Anita sipped her wine as he debated the issue. Fortunately, the wineglass covered her self-important smirk.

"Fine," he finally agreed, and held out his hand.

"Half the profits, and I'll see you at work at six AM tomorrow," she said cheerfully. She reached over the table and grasped his softer hand, and as they shook, a partnership was struck.


	2. Aragh

Promptly at seven o'clock, a knock on her door disturbed Anita from her breakfast of French toast and hard-boiled egg.

"I told you to be here at six," Anita scolded Amir as she let him in.

"I tried getting up at five, but it didn't work. I do live a forty-minute walk away, you know."

Anita pursed her lips. "Fine. Seven will do. Come join me for breakfast; there are a few things I'd like to speak with you about."

As Amir moved fried bread around his plate uncomfortably, Anita spoke between bites. "So I was doing a bit of thinking last night, and I realized that I'm gonna have to say no can do to your little half-the-profits scheme."

Amir stared at her. "We shook on it."

Anita waved her fork in the air as she considered. "That's more of a symbolic thing, really," she decided, taking a bite of bread with emphasis. "Certainly we have to leave room for problems, if they arise, and I'd say your share of the profits is indeed a problem."

"I'm sorry, Anita, but if I don't get half, then I'm not doing any work for you, and I'm going straight to Felix."

Anita's eyes snapped to his face with a cold suddenness. "I don't think so, your Highness." She leaned closer to him with a hard edge in her expression. "Do you really think that you'll be so invaluable to me as a worker that you'll deserve half of what I make? You've never done a day's work in your life, so you said. That means I'm going to have to spend the time to train you. Time is money, Prince Amir. I'm offering you a third of the profits, and I'd say that's pretty generous."

"You can't intimidate me," Amir responded with an unimpressed laugh. "I've had to deal with politicians more practiced in manipulation. We agreed on half the profits, and if you're going to back out, you know where I'll go."

The mood had become abruptly antagonistic, and Anita held in a biting retort. No need to start out the first day already raring to go for each other's throats. She took a deep breath, smiled, and returned to her reclining dining position. "Let's start over."

"Let's start where we came in, with our deal at fifty-fifty."

Another calming breath, another charming smile. "Hear me out, Amir," she said winningly. "Don't turn your nose up at a third before I tell you what I make, exactly."

He sighed deeply. "I will be fair."

Perfect. Anita's charming smile grew into something slightly more predatory before she reigned it in. "You're not present at the merchants' meeting the day after the bazaar, so you wouldn't know this," she began. "You might know that we are the best bazaar in the world, so Felix sets everyone's daily goal at five hundred thousand gold. To encourage us to meet the goal, Felix gives out prizes to whoever made the most money."

She stared at him until he met her gaze. "I always win, Amir. And I don't mean I make the goal by the tip of my nose. I make close to a million each bazaar day. Sixty percent of that million comes from my liquor business. A third of a million gold each week is going to leave you with plenty of pocket change."

The doubtful expression on the young prince's face was losing its prominence. Anita swooped in for the kill by appealing to his honorable side. "Let's not forget that I have a farm to manage. I have close to fifty animals, four orchards, and two buildings to maintain. A lot of the money I earn goes into taking care of all that. If you take a fifty percent cut, I'll only have enough to put a loaf of bread on the table."

His expression wavered between acquiescence and indecision. Anita held her breath.

"I suppose one third is more than sufficient," he finally sighed. Anita repressed the urge to clap her hands with pleasure.

"Excellent. I'm glad we resolved that little detail. You'll get a third of the bazaar profits every Monday after a bazaar." She rose, taking their clean dishes with her. "Let me put these in the sink, and then we can get to work. We've wasted enough time."

* * *

 

Anita had given Amir the choice of working the orchards or taking care of the animals, and after having his baggy white pants played with by Anita's newest cat, he'd decided to go with animals. Anita led him into the barn to get them properly acquainted. There were ten cows, ten sheep, twenty chickens, four cats and four dogs, and a noble white horse. Anita began rattling off the names of each animal, but Amir was unable to remember them except for the horse's, a fact that he was sure she knew.

"It's snowing a bunch today, and while ordinarily I'd just let them outside if the weather isn't too bad, let's pretend it's raining or storming so I can show you what to do in that situation," Anita began. She whistled a rather odd whistle, and the cats and dogs, which had begun rounding up the herd animals, suddenly darted back into the house.

She walked over to a feed dispenser, where fresh fodder was already waiting. "This part is kind of self-explanatory," she said, "but you look kind of lost, so I'll explain it anyway. On a nice day, the pets will just lead the animals outside and lead them back in at five in the evening, but when the weather's bad, you're going to need to feed the animals.

"The fodder basket is weight-sensitive, so scoop up whatever's lying in it and some fresh fodder will pour itself out. Take it." Amir hesitantly began piling up the bits of cut grass in his arms, trying to keep it from spilling out. Sure enough, a pressure plate in the basket rose, and with a few mechanical beeps, more fodder was released.

"See that big trough there?" Anita pointed. "Put it all in. Make sure it's spread evenly throughout. They'll eat it up quickly, so you might need to put in some more to make sure every animal's eaten. I'll wait for you with the chickens." She hopped over a short white fence in the back of the barn with the ease of several years of practice. Amir awkwardly continued distributing fodder until he'd counted twenty animals leaving the trough, then, just as awkwardly, stepped over the same fence.

Anita was studying him with a poorly-disguised grin as she watched his stumbles. "Mind the chicken poo," she cautioned him, miming rolling up her capri pants. Amir did so with growing distaste. "So feeding the chicken is pretty simple; there's a similar feed dispenser here," she pointed, "only pour it out on the floor. They'll make happy sounds once they've eaten, so you'll know when to stop." She gestured for him to do so. The chicken feed plopped out in handy little sacks; Amir much preferred them to the fodder.

Once he was finished, Anita gave an appreciative nod before continuing on her tour. "Now, after they've eaten, it's good to pet them all a little and check them for signs of stress."

"All of them?" Amir hadn't even realized the thought had spilled out of his mouth before it was too late. Anita gave him an unsympathetic glance.

"All of them," she agreed. "Just a quick little pat and check over the body." She demonstrated, doing so with such blinding speed that Amir apologized and said he needed to see it again.

She glared at him. "You're not going to get out of this by asking for example over example," she said irritably, cuddling a Silkie chicken a little slower for Amir's benefit. "Now you try."

The chickens didn't seem to be as receptive to his touch, and he drew his hand away quite a few times for fear of being pecked or scratched at. Finally, one chicken with a spotted wattle chirped happily when he gingerly rubbed its wings, and he felt truly successful. Anita didn't allow him time to celebrate.

"They'll warm up to you," she said dismissively. "Now, in the morning, they'll have laid eggs in their little cubby holes," again she pointed, "so you'll want to scoop them up into your—oh, shoot," she said, starting. "You don't have a rucksack, do you?" Amir shook his head. "We'll have to get one made for you. Or, I don't know, maybe I have an old one lying around." She gave him a once-over. Amir felt almost insulted at the quick way she glanced his body over, sizing him up rather than slowly admiring. "We'll need to get you something more farmer-friendly." She sighed. "That's wool that I'll have to process for clothing instead of selling. Oh, well. It can't be helped. Speaking of which, let's teach you how to shear a sheep."

Amir quickly learned he was not cut out to be a shepherd. He was so terrified of harming the animal with the wicked-looking scissors that most of the wool remained on the animal when he was finished. Anita sighed again, a sound he was quickly becoming used to.

"Never mind. When the sheep need shearing, I'll do it myself. It doesn't take that long for  _me_  to do it, anyway." Amir flinched. "Let's see if you're any better at milking cows."

Anita led him back into the kitchen, where a cabinet next to the sink held an impressive array of different shapes of bottles. "I get new shipments of bottles every Tuesday," she explained, "but that's something I'll take care of, not you, since it's still my money I'm paying with. Now then…" She reached onto the bottom shelf and pulled out a large bucket. "I'll have filled this with warm water by the time you get here, and I'll even put it in the barn for you. You'll wanna clean the cow with this before you get to milking."

Amir felt the blood leave his face. "Am I correct in assuming that this will be much more complicated than shearing a sheep?"

"Oh, not at all," Anita insisted, waving her hand dismissively. "It's easy."

Amir didn't feel encouraged.

"So about the bottles. You see these thin ones? Those are for the black cows. The bigger bottles are for the brown cows, because they produce more milk. These golden bottles I get specially for my prize-winning cows, but I already pointed those out to you. You remember Amanda, Claire and Theresa?" Anita nodded encouragingly. Amir could only offer a weak smile, which unfortunately Anita noticed.

"You won't be able to recognize them, will you," she said. It was not a question. Amir looked away, embarrassed. Anita sighed for the hundredth time.

"Let's get you milking anyway. We'll see what happens."

What happened was Amir not quite figuring out how to hold the bottle in between his knees like Anita had instructed, causing the cow to knock it over and spill milk everywhere. Anita's answering gasp was imbued with horror and rage. Amir could tell that where he saw spilled milk, Anita saw money trickling down the drain. He prepared for a severe tongue-lashing, but to his surprise, she remained quiet.

"It's okay, Amir," she said after a long, frightening pause. Her calm tone worried him more than the silence had. "I keep forgetting that you're completely new to all this. Let me finish milking the cows. Help yourself to anything in the kitchen while I wrap up here."

* * *

 

It was just after one o'clock when Anita returned to the house to find a very awkward Amir sitting at her dining room table.

"Did you eat anything?" she asked him, a little out of breath from the bottles of milk she held in her arms.

"I got a little lost in your storage space," Amir admitted with an embarrassed laugh. "I found some rice and cooked that for myself. I hope you don't mind."

"No, I have plenty of rice," Anita answered as she began piling away milk in the aforementioned storage, "but I'm surprised that you think that'll tide you over for the rest of the day. We're going to be doing some hard work."

Amir regretted ever agreeing to helping out. Would he be able to find a way to back out, to twist the terms of this blackmail around? Certainly, this was something to consider over the coming days. "What will we be doing?" he stammered.

"You. What will  _you_  be doing. And what  _you'll_ be doing is taking care of the orchard." She pulled her gloves tighter with a grin. "Consider yourself lucky. In the winter, all you need to take care of is the greenhouse. I might have to dock your pay a little, since it's such little work."

"Or you could pay me more, since it's probably nothing you couldn't do yourself," Amir responded coldly.

"Don't push it, your Highness," Anita snapped. Then, regaining her composure, she continued, "Please follow me into the greenhouse. It's in the basement."

As Amir descended the rickety wooden steps with her, he couldn't help but grin to himself. Money was obviously a subject close to Anita's heart, and if he ever felt like riling her up a bit—just in the name of a little payback—he knew what to say. The moment her feet hit the bottom step, Anita spun around and handed him a pair of pruning shears. As if she could sense his mutinous thoughts, she added, "Don't get any ideas."

"I would never—" Amir, appalled, began, but Anita cut him off.

"I'm just teasing. Here, look," she said, grasping an overgrown tree branch. Amir started, realizing he had yet to realize the enormous space that he suddenly found himself in. Despite its stone walls, the basement seemed to be overflowing in greenery. Grapevines clambered over countless wooden posts, practically fencing the dozens of apple trees in. Flowers blossomed from many of the trees, some even bearing baby fruits. Blueberry bushes covered what available space there was like a carpet. Amir stood standing with his mouth open until Anita impatiently snapped her fingers in front of his glazed eyes.

"You can admire them later. You'll be seeing a great deal of them, after all." She then proceeded to show him how to trim the trees, bushes and vines with the pruning shears, which, while much easier than milking a cow, made Amir sure that in a few days' time, he'd end up with sore muscles.

"Oh, definitely," Anita agreed when he brought the subject up. "You're going to be in a lot of pain over the next few days." Seeing his almost imperceptible look of dismay, her expression softened. "You know, I can be generous. If you need a day to rest the first few weeks, I can handle the orchard myself for a day." He flashed her an appreciative smile before she continued. "Just understand that I'm going to take a slice out of your pay for the week."

An argument immediately flared up. This time, Amir did not back down until she'd agreed that okay, he was allowed a few sick days. The anger didn't quite dissipate until she'd finished showing him how to fertilize the plants when they were flowering.

Finally, Anita stretched and glanced at her watch. "Well, I have to head out into the fields to make sure all the animals are rounded up, then get started dinner."

"I'll head back to the hotel, then," Amir said with a grateful sigh. Out of the corner of his eye, he thought Anita looked disappointed, but when he met her gaze, her typical businesslike manner hadn't wavered. He must be desperate to find any sign of weakness in the woman, he realized with annoyance.

"See you at seven, then," she said, heading up the stairs. When he hadn't moved, she called down, "Amir, I need to lock up after you." With a start, he darted up the stairs before she grew any more impatient.

"Good night, Amir," she said once she'd finished, and held out her hand. Amir gripped it in a firm handshake.

"Good night, Anita."

"Seven o'clock," she reminded him as he walked back down the hill. He thought he saw her wave goodbye, but when he turned to wave back, she'd already closed her door.


	3. Kumi kumi

Amir arrived at the farm promptly at seven the next day. Anita was impressed by his punctuality and nearly said so until she realized that such easy praise would most likely go to his head. He was, after all, an amateur, and amateurs fed off praise. No use in giving her little farmhand a sizable ego before their work together had even truly started.

They ate a silent breakfast of rice and miso before she sent the prince down to the greenhouse. After making sure he wouldn't slice his fingers off with the pruning shears, she went along her own business.

Antoinette usually was available at home until eight thirty, when she left to wander the countryside, Anita mused as she milked the cows, which meant there wasn't much time left to catch her. There was even less time to shear the sheep, but hopefully Anita had enough wool on hand to make an outfit. Antoinette most likely wouldn't tolerate Anita asking her to make some new clothes while she was out and about, and less likely to wait for Anita to run back home to shear the sheep for extra wool if it turned out there wasn't enough. A no-win situation, which meant she probably didn't even have enough time to check the chickens over yet. Anita sighed and walked briskly over to her storage to grab her saved wool. Antoinette was one of her closest friends, but goodness, the girl could be prickly.

Before leaving, Anita peeked down the stairs to check on Amir. Though he was wielding the pruning shears a little uncertainly, he didn't seem likely to accidentally kill himself. Each rebellious branch was cut a little more confidently each time.

The benefits of hiring a studious man—he learned fast and with dedication. "Good work," Anita muttered absently.

"Thank you, Anita," Amir said, turning towards her with a smile.

Anita flushed and scowled. "Don’t let me distract you," she snapped, getting out of sight and closing the house door behind her with a little more force than necessary.

She burst into Antoinette's house almost, but not quite, on time, nearly running into an exiting Antoinette as she did so.

"Watch it," Antoinette said flatly, pulling back a bit. "I was just about to leave. What do you want?"

"Nice to see you, too," Anita responded with a smile. "I was actually wondering if you could make something for me."

"An accessory?" the other woman asked, moving to the family room from the hallway and stretching luxuriously on the couch. "You'll have to get me the materials."

Anita sat without being told, not expecting an invitation. "No, an outfit, actually. And before you get too excited, I'm not letting you make me over. It's a man's outfit."

"You could do with some new clothes," Antoinette grumbled. She perked up after a moment. "Did you say a man's outfit? Why a man's outfit?"

"I got Amir to work on my farm, but all he has are prince, ah, princely clothes," Anita caught herself, "you know, too frou-frou for farm work. I have some yarn with me, but if you need more, just let me know." She handed the balls of yarn over, which Antoinette immediately began inspecting. She had nothing to worry about—the wool was of the highest quality, of course.

Antoinette ran the yarn over her fingers for a few more moments before her eyes abruptly rose to meet Anita's. "You have his measurements, too, I assume?"

"His what?"

"His measurements," Antoinette said, enunciating the words. "I can't turn this into cloth before I know his measurements."

"Oh," Anita responded. "I didn't think of that. I'll ask him for them today and get back to you. You'll still make them, right?"

"Okay," Antoinette sighed. "I can start designing them right now. If I have any questions, will you be on your farm all day?"

Anita chewed her lip as she thought. "Probably. If I'm not there, I’ll be at a windmill, so please just wait around a bit for me to come back."

"I suppose that's fine," Antoinette said with another world-weary sigh. "I'm going to start designing it now. See you later."

Anita knew when to leave Antoinette alone to her work. Thanking her friend again, she exited, annoyed at herself for forgetting something as obvious as  _measurements_.

* * *

 

Anita was roasting a couple of eggplants left over from the fall harvest for lunch when Amir came up from the basement, looking sweaty and disheveled. Anita grinned to herself as he collapsed in a dining chair.

"I hope you like eggplant," she called from the kitchen. He nodded tiredly and picked a leaf out of his hair.

"Do you want some tea?" she asked him as she served lunch. "Tea gives you strength."

Amir made a face and began digging in. Anita smirked.

"So tired you're reduced to silence and gestures, huh?" she asked, daintily cutting a slice of eggplant for herself. "What happened to your courtly manners?"

Amir swallowed. "I'm so sorry, Anita. No, I don't like tea very much."

Anita held in a laugh without much success. Amir stared at her, perplexed.

"Forget I, uh, laughed anything." They continued to eat in fairly comfortable silence for a few moments before Anita set down her fork. "Oh, right. I completely forgot. Amir, I need your clothing measurements."

"What for?"

"Well, you can't keep working in those things," she said, pointing. Amir looked down. His once-pristine white robes were now drenched in sweat and caked in dirt, and a few twigs had wormed their way through the threads of fabric.

"I have other clothes," he said indifferently.

"I'm sure you do, your Highness," Anita responded, "but what I'm saying is you need work clothes, not frolicking-about-the-throne-room clothes."

"We don't 'frolic' in the—"

"So," she interrupted loudly, "I ordered you some new clothes from Antoinette, but she needs your measurements before she can make them for you. Can I have them? I'll write them down."

She pulled a pen out of her rucksack by her chair and prepared to scribble the numbers down on her paper napkin.

"I don't know my measurements."

Anita stared.

Amir stared back. "What?"

"How do you not know your measurements?" she asked him, appalled.

"Please remember that I don't come from a small town where everyone makes their own clothes," Amir said with a grin that made Anita want to smack him. "My measurements were known by the palace weavers, and they never shared them with me."

Anita sighed and went quiet.

"I think I know where this is going," she said after a long pause.

What followed after the dishes were cleaned up was a very awkward measuring session in which Amir stood very still and thought about other things while Anita went around him with a measuring tape, occasionally snapping at him in embarrassment.

Fortunately, by the time Antoinette impatiently knocked on her door asking if she had the measurements yet, Anita's embarrassed blush had receded and the measurements were successfully scrawled on the napkin. Antoinette departed to work on the outfit without even showing Anita what was in her sketchbook.

Amir had left early, and Anita didn't want to find a reason to make him stay.

* * *

 

By the time Amir had finished crawling back to the hotel room, he wasn't sure whether he wanted to die from embarrassment or the pain in his muscles. Anita had told him to quit whining because he was going to get sexy muscles, but an awkward silence had descended after her failed attempt at a joke, and he was not much comforted by her suggestion. She had then told him to stop squirming and let her measure, when of course he'd been doing nothing of the sort.

He hobbled into the bathroom to draw himself a boiling hot bath, a task he was still getting used to even after a few years of living in the small town. He still half-expected servants to swoosh into the room with jugs of scented oils and flowers to let float on the bath's surface.

Some luxuries were harder to lose than others.

The bathtub finally full, he sighed as he eased himself in, a sigh that changed to a hiss of pain as the hot water flooded into all the branch scrapes from today. The stinging pain cleared his mind of the foggy exhaustion, however, leaving him plenty of time to ruminate on how awkward all his interactions with Anita had been today. First there had been the—rather humorous—moment when he'd caught her praising his work, and then the—less fun—lunch that had led to the intensely uncomfortable measuring.

The outfit better be something spectacular, he thought, in order to make up for today.


	4. Maria Louca

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoops, late update (very late). It's a longer and more fun one to make up for it! Who doesn't love awkward first dates??

Winter was passing with remarkable speed ever since Amir and Anita had struck their little deal, Anita mused one day. Thanks to both their efforts, she was fast growing used to having a bit of extra time at the end of her days, which she liked immensely. It left some free time in her evenings to read a book—something she hadn't been able to do in a while—or take extra special care of her animals.

She was also fast growing used to preparing meals for two, and she wasn't quite sure how she felt about that. Amir was a necessary evil who was shaping up to be a better farmhand than she was expecting. He was not a friend. He was not a constant, pleasant figure in her life. These reminders didn't help when she would find herself making a dinner too large for one person, as she had, out of habit, doubled the recipe. Amir would never know that she was serving him leftovers for lunch; if he had, perhaps he would have realized why the meal was served so crabbily.

Or maybe he wouldn't have. "Crabby" was Anita's general state of being, and if she acted any other way around him, it tended to surprise him into discomfort as he waited for the other shoe to drop.

Anita had learned the hard way that being nice to Amir was more trouble than it was worth. For Winter Harmony Day, Anita had spent the time—and  _money_ , damn it—to bake Amir some chocolate cookies and wrap them up in yellow paper. He'd been working constantly for the past two weeks, never taking a single day off and rarely complaining. He deserved a nice thank-you for his hard work, and though Anita admitted she could be a touch stingy, she still could be known to express gratitude.

It was a nicety.

It was common courtesy.

It wasn't even a romantic holiday.

Then why had Amir looked so damn suspicious when she'd offered him the yellow package?

"What is this?" he'd asked dubiously, raising the gift up a bit and eying it with uncertainty.

"It's a wrapped present, Amir," Anita had said, plastering a smile on her face. "That's the fun part; you don't know what's inside until you open it."

Amir had offered it back to her. "No, thank you. I don't want it exploding on me."

Anita had been surprised by the hurt that stabbed through her heart. "You don't really think that poorly of me, do you?" she'd asked, curious despite the painful throbbing in her chest.

Amir's answering look told her all she needed to know.

The hurt deepened. "I don't try to be the bad guy in this, Amir," she'd said quietly. "It's a Winter Harmony Day present. They're chocolate cookies."

"Are they poisoned?"

"You know what? Forget it," Anita had snapped, snatching the present out of his grasp. "I was just trying to thank you for all the hard work you've been doing for me lately. Isn't that the point of this holiday? To show thanks? But if you're going to be a sarcastic ass about it, lesson learned. I won't let my guard down again and try to be grateful anymore."

At her little speech, Amir had looked surprised for half a second before the suspicion returned. "I'm only doing the 'hard work' because you're blackmailing me," he'd snapped back.

"We’re wasting time with this idiocy. I’m going back to work."

"Same for me," he'd hissed, storming back down the basement stairs, even though both of them knew they'd finished for the day.

Anita had eaten all the cookies by herself that midnight, too embarrassed to call a friend up to share them with. Destroying the evidence of her weakness.

Anita winced at the memory, shoving her pillow over her face. Glancing at her clock, she saw that it was already two AM. She had to get up in three hours, and so far she hadn't slept at all. All this sleeplessness over the silly fact that tomorrow—well,  _today_ —was the twenty-third of winter, and she couldn't decide if she was supposed to ask Amir to dinner the next day.

* * *

 

Amir threw on his new farmer's clothes as quickly as he could, though he struggled with the pants buttons, as always. Antoinette had designed some odd clasp system that made the fit extra snug and durable, though learning how to properly hook each button over its matching metal loop had caused him to be twenty minutes late to work the first time he'd put them on. He was too embarrassed to explain to Anita the reason for his tardiness, so after a bit of mostly one-sided arguing, she'd docked him a thousand gold from that week's pay.

Still, they fit well. The forest green jacket had several large pockets, the perfect size for his pruning tools with room for anything extra. When they were empty—which wasn’t often—the jacket hugged his frame, sleeves easily rolled up so he could admire his newly-toned arms. The dark red t-shirt he wore underneath was sweat-wicking and soft, and while the overall ensemble was less fine than his usual attire, he didn’t miss the way Anita’s—and those whom he passed in the town, and the bazaar customers’, too, for that matter—eyes lingered for just a second too long each time he showed up for work.

Amir's first bazaar had been fast, confusing, and, at times, disturbing. Many of her customers were surprised to find him working there and seemed not to be sure whether or not he was in charge of the bootlegging business. Anita eventually solved the confusion—which was slowing down business—by directing her thirstier customers to Amir, who soon learned the most efficient way to slip money into his many-pocketed new jacket and hand over crates of booze marked FRUIT in one elegant motion. By the end of the day, Anita had been the happiest he'd ever seen her, and they spent the evening counting gold together. His tardiness penalty had mattered little, he'd decided, once he was walking away with gold weighing down his trousers.

Amir finished buttoning up said trousers and dashed out the door. A bazaar was coming up in a few days, and last week when they'd run out of blueberry wine, Anita had been furious with herself. He was supposed to check on this week's batch and make sure they'd be ready in time. If not, it was—again his job—to watch over the animals while Anita went fishing to ensure a stream of cash to make up for the lost profits.

Unfortunately, Daisy stopped him on his way out the door. "Amir, are you joining us for dinner tomorrow night?" she squealed, clasping her hands together in excitement.

_Excitement for what?_  "Is there something special about tomorrow night?" he inquired politely.

"Silly, you remember!" she giggled, swatting him with her feather duster. "It's the Starry Night Festival!"

Of course. With his frenzied work on the farm lately, it had completely slipped his mind. He usually spent it with the hotel family and Angelo. "I don't see any reason why not," he replied. "Thank you for inviting me."

"Oh, you always act so surprised!" she said with another laugh and swat of the duster. "It's no trouble at all. There'll be chocolate fondue, so bring your appetite!"

He nodded vaguely and continued his dash out the door. Glancing to his left, he saw a path leading up to a ledge that he'd never noticed before. Judging by the trail, it looked like it would lead directly into the northern part of town. He was already running later than he'd like; maybe he'd find a new shortcut to Anita's farm.

Sure enough, the ledge dropped him off exactly where he'd predicted, and the path only continued as he jumped from ledge to ledge.

As he arrived at the farm twenty minutes earlier than usual, Amir vowed to start getting up later.

Anita's horse Firefoot was already out and about, so Amir decided that, rather than start work early, he would relax and spend time with the only animal whose name he could remember. The horse was a silvery white that seemed to shine from the harsh winter sun, and Amir spent a few moments admiring its beautiful coat before a creak from the door alerted him to Anita's presence.

"You're up early," she said. Amir glanced at her guiltily. To his surprise, she didn't sound irritated. In fact, if he had to use an adjective to describe her demeanor, he'd probably choose…

Meek.

The thought startled him. "Meek" was not usually a word he associated with Anita.

Amir, realizing she was still expecting an answer, decided that telling Anita about his new shortcut wasn't a good idea. He didn't want her expecting him this early every day, after all. "I couldn't sleep."

She sighed. "Must be the weather or something. I couldn't sleep, either." She returned to her home with nothing more than, "Breakfast's ready."

Amir stared after her, shocked at the sympathy she'd displayed. No ridiculing laugh? No scolding for not starting work right away? Sleep-deprived Anita was clearly a pleasant figure to be around.

They ate their omelets in silence, as usual. Though at this point in their relationship the silence was usually comfortable, Amir felt distinctly ill at ease. Anita's eyes remained firmly focused on her rolled egg the entire meal. Amir kept sneaking glances at her, but she never rose to the bait, not even looking at him when she cleared the table.

What had he done to deserve this discomfort? It had been nice to have an argument-free morning, but Anita looked as if he'd kicked her dog. Actually, if he  _had_  kicked one of her many animals, he was sure she'd look less heartbroken and more furious and violent. Unable to stand Anita's woe-is-me face without knowing the cause, Amir made his escape to the greenhouse to check on the blueberries.

* * *

 

Anita exhaled as soon as the prince had darted down the stairs. He hadn't made a single comment on how tense she was; maybe that meant he hadn't noticed, and she could ask him to dinner without him picking up on her nervousness. She hadn't been this worried about asking a boy to dinner since she was nineteen, and that had been as more than friends.

Would it feel any different, she wondered as she milked her cows, if she were asking Amir to dinner as a date?

She paused to think about this. Butterflies in her stomach, sleepless nights of worrying, and she'd probably brood a bit.

Anita swore. That was exactly what she'd been doing.

She briskly continued taking care of her morning chores. It wasn't like she had a schoolgirl crush on the man; she'd just never asked anyone to the Starry Night Festival before. When she'd first arrived in Zephyr Town, she'd been so focused on starting up her bootlegging business that she'd rarely seen the point in participating in the festivals that required wasting money rather than winning prizes. Her previous Starry Night Festivals had pretty much been normal dinners, with her maybe stargazing for a few minutes before she deemed it too cold to stay out any longer. Now that someone else was a part of her farm and its successes, it seemed almost rude to not invite them to the Starry Night annual dinner, even if it wasn't going to be anything special.

Anita nodded to herself, satisfied. No wonder she was so nervous; frankly, she didn't want Amir to think poorly of her Starry Night traditions, and so she ordinarily wouldn't invite him, but boy, it'd be rude not to, right?

The cow stared at her, almost like she was judging Anita's decisions.

"Well, I didn't ask for your opinion, anyway," Anita snapped, scooping up her ten bottles of milk to place in storage.

The cow mooed.

* * *

 

"Amir?" Anita called down the stairs, maybe quieter than she would ordinarily. Amir sighed. Was she disappointed that she actually had to talk to him when she'd been happily avoiding him all day? Even lunch had been another silent affair. "You down there?"

Of course he was. Where else would he— _oh,_  Amir remembered. He was supposed to go pick up the newest wine bottle shipment.

"I'm on my way," he responded, knowing she wouldn't scold him today. Amir trudged up the stairs, conflicted on whether he liked today's Anita or not.  _Probably not_. He sort of liked riling her up.

Heading outside, Amir hooked Firefoot up to Anita's cart. Knowing how to ride a horse well was the one farmhand skill pre-Anita he'd picked up back home, and Anita had been quick to take advantage of it once she'd found out. In the beginning, because he'd been out of practice, he'd gone down the hill south of the farm rather slowly, but now he raced down it at full gallop, knowing the empty—and sturdy—cart behind him would be fine until he loaded it up full of bottles.

When he arrived at the bazaar grounds, the delivery man was already pacing impatiently, the crate of wine bottles lying at his feet. Amir snorted. He'd only been ten minutes late.

"There you are," the guy said as Amir began counting out the money Anita had given him. "I've been waiting for an eternity."

"Here's your payment," Amir said instead of an apology. He scooped up the crates and loaded them into the cart, throwing a blanket over them. Never hurt to be careful of curious eyes wondering what was inside.

When Amir got back to the farm, Anita was nowhere in sight. Amir shrugged and got to work, unloading the crates in Anita's now-familiar storage space, and returning to the greenhouse to pick the ripe blueberries to ferment.

By the time he'd finished packing the blueberries and grapes into the farm windmill, he still hadn't seen Anita. Deciding he was a bit worried, he stepped into the farmhouse again and came face to face with Anita.

Embarrassed, they both stepped back, and Amir could tell something was different about her.

"You're wearing makeup," he said, pleased that he'd noticed. Brown eyeshadow adorned Anita's left eye while purple was barely smeared on her right, which also sported black mascara.

"I'm trying out different stuff," she explained. "I can't figure out what I like yet."

"What's the occasion?" he asked, actually caring for once. It wasn't often that a farmer wore makeup.

"Oh, you know," Anita said vaguely. Before he could reply, she changed the subject. "What are your plans for the Starry Night Festival?"

Amir decided to let it drop. "I think I'm eating with the hotel family. They're making chocolate fondue."

"You like chocolate fondue?"

"Who doesn't?"

That made Anita smile, but it only lasted a second. "Well, I'm not having any chocolate fondue. I don't even know what I'll make for dinner."

"Oh? Who are you eating with?"

Anita fidgeted. "Oh, no one, really." There was a pause. "Okay, that was a weird lie. No one special. Just me and my pets."

They were silent for a few moments. Amir didn't know what to say.

"Hey, I'm probably not having chocolate fondue, but I mean," Anita began, "you eat with the hotel family all the time, right? How about you spend a night with me? I mean," she said loudly, "dinner with me? Do you want to have dinner with me?"

Amir stayed quiet for a long time, considering—so long Anita’s cheeks looked a little redder than the blush on one side of her face could excuse.

"You know what—" she began.

"Sure, I'll have dinner with you," Amir cut her off with a smile.

Anita blushed in surprise. "Yeah, it's really no big deal," she insisted. "If you'd rather eat with Ethel and everyone, go ahead. I was just curious because you work here and all."

"It's fine, Anita. I want to eat dinner here."

"Oh," she said quietly. "Okay, that's cool. I'll see you tomorrow, then."

He smiled again and turned to leave, knowing when he was being shown the door. As he was walking down the path, he heard Anita call, "You can have the day off tomorrow!"

Another smile. Amir went home still unsure as to why he accepted the invitation.

* * *

 

It was seven-thirty, and Anita still wasn't ready for the festival to start. Miso soup was bubbling away in a small pan on the stove, and the main dish—stew, of course—had just been brought down to a simmer. The chocolate cake was in the oven and would be ready in ten minutes.

And Anita was prancing about the farmhouse in her underwear.

Well, not so much "prancing" as dashing back and forth from her storage area to the mirror in her bathroom, deciding between the two styles of outfits she owned. There was her every-day work outfit, which she wasn't sure was appropriate, but in comparison to the other outfit…

The other outfit was a dress her mother had sent her last year that Anita hadn't even touched yet. It wasn't so much inappropriate as it was sophisticated and classy and almost too formal for a not-a-date. Simple but refined, it hugged her curves with swaths of deep purple fabric accentuated only a smattering of rhinestones on the corner of the sash. It was hardly appropriate for a farmer to wear, but her mother had never been that connected with her lifestyle choices, anyway.

Anita wriggled into the dress and was running to the mirror again when she heard a knock on the door. She groaned to herself—purple inappropriate date dress it was. She ran to the door and opened it as she forced a smile onto her face.

Amir grinned when he saw her. "So that's why you were trying on makeup yesterday," he teased. Anita blushed and fought the urge to hit him. "Glad to see you finally decided on something you liked. You look very nice."

Anita rubbed the corner of her mascara-encrusted eyelashes. "I only have a few kinds of makeup. There wasn't much to decide between."

He entered the house and removed his scarf, hanging it up on his usual peg by the door. To Anita's immense relief, he was wearing his prince robes in lieu of his usual work get-up. She wasn’t sure she could handle the form-fitting work garb today. In his left hand he held a polished bottle of wine. Anita peered closer to read the label. It couldn't have been from her farm—she would have noticed if he'd taken something, of course, and he wouldn't dare to bring something he'd stolen for dinner…Besides, Amir didn't seem like the stealing type.

Amir noticed the direction of her glances. "I bought it from Joan on my way home last night," he explained. "She was having a special on Spring Wine. I'm getting sick of winter, and I thought you might like a taste of the incoming season."

Anita stared. "That's a really nice thought, Amir," she managed. "I guess I'll take the chestnut wine out of the fridge, then." She carefully took the bottle of expensive wine out of Amir's grasp and went to the kitchen, inviting Amir to sit down as she did so. "Dinner's just about ready. I hope you're hungry."

Returning from the kitchen, she set two bowls of miso soup down on the table.

"I put tofu in it, too," she said. "I hope that's all right."

"That's perfectly fine. I like tofu. Thank you."

They ate in companionable silence for a few moments, but it wasn't long before Amir attempted a conversation. He didn't think it was very fair to Anita for this night to be just another meal between a farmhand and his blackmailing boss.

"Yesterday, when I went to pick up the wine bottles, the delivery man was quite rude to me," he began. Anita glanced up, interested.

"It was ridiculous," Amir scoffed. "I was only about ten minutes late, and this man was acting as though he had so many more pressing matters to attend to."

"Don’t be so judgmental," Anita said with a straight face. "I bet he was expecting his latest child and was frantic—which box was the kid going to pop out of?”

Amir chuckled. "Still, Zephyr Town needs a new delivery service. This is the third time I've met with the man, and he's been arrogant and impatient all three times."

"Well, who do you think in this town could  _run_ a delivery service? Dirk?"

They both laughed and continued eating. The conversation flowed nicely even through the main course, which delighted Amir, all the way through to dessert.

Amir took a final bite of his chocolate cake, savoring the feel of silky chocolate over the soft cake for one last time.

"I don't mean to exaggerate," he said, hesitating at the praise he was about to lavish upon the woman, "but that was the best chocolate cake I've ever eaten."

Anita glanced up from her own plate in surprise. "Thanks. I've entered it in the Cooking Festival before; I'm surprised you didn't taste it then."

"Is that in the fall?"

"Yes—oh, right, you're not here," Anita remembered. "Well, I'm glad you could enjoy it here."

She began clearing the table of plates and empty wineglasses while Amir watched. As she was washing off the dishes in the sink, Amir leaned against the kitchen doorway with a thoughtful look on his face.

"It's the Starry Night Festival," he pointed out.

Anita glanced up irritably. "What? Yes, it is. I know that, Amir."

Amir glared for a moment before he remembered his original point. "Well, I was just thinking that it's a clear night. We should be able to see lots of stars. Isn't that what this festival is about?"

"Yeah, I guess."

"Do you want to watch the stars with me?"

Heat rushed to Anita's face, and she remained where she was, safely facing away from the man. Such an invitation sounded distinctly romantic, especially for what was supposed to be an unromantic evening.

_But was it, really?_  Anita's subconscious helpfully supplied. She shook her head to clear her thoughts.

"No?" Amir said.

"No what?"

"No, you don't want to watch the stars?"

Anita turned around, hoping that her face was no longer flushed. "I have a bench in my pasture that should be pretty nice. We can have a comfortable view from there."

Amir smiled a smile that made Anita's heart race. Sometime over the course of the dinner, Amir had stopped being her necessary-evil-farmhand and had become a charming gentleman. Maybe even a friend. Maybe even…

"Shall we go?"

"We shall," Anita said, a little louder than usual to clear her thoughts once more.

The pasture sparkled crystal white in the moonlight as they trudged up the hill to the bench. Anita had thrown on the matching shawl to her dress, but she doubted it would do much good. Shivering slightly in the winter evening chill, she regretted not just bundling up into her everyday jacket.

They brushed snow off the bench at the top of the hill and sat down together, just close enough to be cordial but not touching. They stared at the sky together, the moonlight causing their faces to glow slightly.

"They're beautiful," Amir said quietly, breathing out puffs of white air. Anita nodded.

"I didn't think I would want to come to dinner tonight," he continued after a few moments of silence. Hurt stabbed briefly through Anita's heart—hurt that was well deserved, she noted bitterly. "You are, after all, blackmailing me," he echoed her thoughts, "but that's only because I'm doing the same to you.

"But I'm having a lovely time tonight, Anita." He turned his face towards hers. "Do you think every day could be like this?"

"What?" Anita gasped, surprised by the conversation.

"Do you think maybe we could try being friends? You're not too irritating to deal with, I see," he said with a grin, "when you're not hounding me about my work. And I don't think I'm unpleasant company when I'm not being bitter about the blackmail."

"Sure," Anita sputtered. "Yeah, we could try being friends."

Amir flashed a smile, and Anita shivered. Unfortunately, he noticed.

"Are you cold?" For a frightening, hopeful moment, Anita was sure he was going to put his arm around her. "I can lend you my scarf," he said instead, and Anita exhaled in something that was sort of like relief and sort of like disappointment.

"I'm fine, thanks," she said. "It's getting pretty late, anyway. I might just head inside."

Amir stood and stretched. "It is, isn't it? I guess I'll be headed home."

Anita rose as well. "Oh, your wine. Come inside to get it.”

He shook his head. "No, I insist. Keep it. Think of it as a thank-you gift for the lovely dinner."

He stepped closer. "Let me thank you properly for the dinner," he said quietly. Anita felt her pulse quicken. "I had a wonderful time, Anita. It was nice just being able to spend the evening with you like this," he added.

Anita looked up, uncomfortable with his proximity. Abruptly, she stuck out her hand. Amir looked down in surprise. "You're welcome, Amir. Have a good evening."

Amir grinned and shook her hand. Within a few moments, he was headed down the hill with a wave.

"See you tomorrow!" Anita called after him. Once she was sure he was out of sight, she smiled to herself and went inside to bed.

Anita spent the next morning in the bathtub, closing her eyes in embarrassment at the memory of the previous night. She'd acted like such a love-struck teenager. Amir would never take her seriously now.

After she'd dried off, she stared at herself in the mirror.

"Foolish girl," she said to the reflection. "Don't let it happen again."


End file.
